A Twist of Sobriety
by ceb
Summary: CARBY stand-alone post-ep to season eight's "Brothers and Sisters"


A Twist Of Sobriety

Disclaimer: I wish I could create characters that are half as compelling to watch and read about as Carter and Abby are. Sadly, I can't so I'm borrowing these two for a little while, with the promise to return them safely again when I'm done.

Thanks be to: Gooders (a.k.a. Namdoog)- you practically wrote this fic my friend, thanks for being such a great muse; Noodles (a.k.a. Ajino)- Thanks for the wicked title and for proof reading; Everyone else over on the C+P board- you keep life online interesting!

Feedback: Yes please! Review here or by e-mail!

Summary: A Carby post-ep to season eight's "Brothers and Sisters". Both Gooders and I wanted to see something along the lines of this… I hope it's enjoyable!!!

Flick.

I pause briefly, hand clasping the remote. What's this? Sandra Bullock, Ben Affleck, some brunette wearing a wedding dress in the rain…

Flick.

What the hell am I doing watching TV at this time anyway? Quirky show about a radio station with a familiar looking actress in it…

Flick.

I'm avoiding, that's what I'm doing. Avoiding thinking, avoiding drinking, avoiding ringing him.

Jim Carrey and a blonde celebrating a cute kid's birthday…

Flick.

It's too late, I can't ring him, he might be sleeping. 

A remake of Macbeth set in the seventies?! 

Sigh.

Why does everything have to be so complicated?

Power off.

I shudder slightly and pull the turtleneck I'm wearing tighter towards my body. My gaze drifts back towards the table upon which are seated two incredibly appealling items. I'm trying to decide which I want more. I decide. And the more I stare at its outline, the more I want it. Its curvaceous form tempts me. And although I know I shouldn't, I can't help myself. I lunge forwards and grab the object of my affection, clutching it to my chest for a moment. Taking a deep breath I raise it to my lips and…

"Carter?"

A groggy sleep-ridden voice greets me. "Abby?"

"Hi."

"Is everything okay?"

I stare at the half empty bottle in front of me.

"Yes," I reply in a tone which clearly means no.

"I'm coming over. I'll be there in fifteen."

I didn't even have to hint.

Click. Dial tone.

A buzzing noise fills the apartment. As I walk over to the intercom a sense of dread stirs up within me and I realize how frightened I am of opening that damn door. Has it really been fifteen minutes since our phone call? 

I hit the little button. 

"Abby?"

There it is, the relief at hearing his voice. Even a ghost of a smile on my lips. I press the door release.

A moment later he's standing there outside my door. Two moments later he's still standing there as I fumble with my new security devices. Three moments later he's in front of me.

I move aside allowing him to enter the room, wondering how I should initiate conversation.

But there's no need; he's staring at that other item.

"Carter…" I begin tentatively.

He glances across at me, disappointment etched across his features.

"That's the bottle from this morning."

He looks up at me, almost with contempt. "I thought after you cleaned me up… but no Abby, you know best…"

"Carter…"

His voice is rising slowly. "Six years Abby! Six years of sobriety all for nothing?"

"It's under control," I reply shakily.

He scoffs. "Under control? That's why you ring me at four in the morning?!"

"I didn't ask you to come here."

"It was that or find you comatose in the morning."

"John, I haven't touched a drop this evening."

He's not listening. "I swear to God when you come in with chronic renal failure…" he shakes his head, "why Abby?"

Boy he's fired up now. And also staring at me intensely. Yikes, that last one wasn't rhetorical. Should I tell him?

"Why are you doing this to yourself?" he reiterates insistently.

Almost inaudibly I mutter, "I had an abortion."

Silence. 

Well, almost, I think I hear his jaw drop.

"I had an abortion," I repeat, "that's why I started drinking."

His face is such a mixed bag of emotions that for once I have no idea what he's thinking.

He finds his voice, just, "with Luka?"

That's what he was thinking. I shake my head vehemently. "No, not with Luka."

Surprisingly he looks extremely dejected at this news. "Then who?" he asks.

Ahh, he thinks this is a recent event.

"Richard." I spit out his name.

"Was it a mutual decision?"

I smile mirthlessly before replying to the negative. "I never even told him."

His eyes widen a little but he remains mute.

"I just… I have enough problems with the rest of my family… I just couldn't… I didn't want to…"

"… risk having a bipolar baby to look after too," he finishes.

I nod, a lump rising up in my throat. "Some people aren't meant to be mothers."

He looks at me compassionately, before saying with sincerity, "Abby, I don't know anyone who'd make a better mother."

And it all becomes too much, the emotions I've suppressed for so long come tumbling out all at once and before I know what's happening Carter's crossing the distance between us, wrapping his arms around me and comforting my sobbing form.

If only I'd been able to talk to Richard the way I can talk to Carter, then I wouldn't be in this mess. I wouldn't have started drinking and I might even have a five year old running around the place… if only Richard had been Carter…

An hour passes by and we find ourselves stretched out on the couch. I'm laid half on top of Carter and his arms are resting around my waist. He's surfing through TV stations.

Flick.

J-Lo and an abusive husband and some other guy who I've definitely seen before…

Carter's gently stroking my stomach in a soporific fashion.

Flick.

Rival computer software giants battling it out… hmm, cute brunette…

Flick.

The Macbeth movie's still on.

I Carter chuckle. I shift my gaze from the screen to his face.

"Things without all remedy should be without regard. What's done is done."

I smile, "Lady Macbeth."

He looks at me, impressed, "indeed."

Then back at the screen, "and that's one damn fine Lady Macbeth."

I remain pensive for a while, enjoying the feeling of being in his embrace. 

"Thank you," I voice, "thank you for coming."

He shrugs it off as nothing but I want him to know how much I needed him tonight. "I mean it," I say, looking him in the eye and emphasizing the words.

He smiles bashfully. "This is nice."

I stare at him puzzled. 

"Us, talking, watching TV, it's nice," he explains.

"Us? Is there an us?" I speak gently, reiterating his words from earlier in the day.

He blushes slightly, yet still visible in the half light.

"Would you like there to be?" I risk.

He looks at me in astonishment before his smile widens. "Very much so."

Satisfied with his response I snuggle closer into his arms, exhaustion washing over me. 

He leans over and tentatively places a soft kiss on my lips before re-positioning himself on the sofa, ready for sleep.

And I feel safe again in my home, a feeling I never thought I'd achieve after Brian's violation. A genuine smile is upon my lips and I don't think insomnia will perturb me any more tonight.

As my eyelids flicker and become heavy I reach out to take the remote from between his fingers as he pulls his arms more tightly around me.

Power off.


End file.
